


feels like a long way down

by carissima



Category: Men's Hockey RPF
Genre: 2019 Stanley Cup Playoffs, Alcohol, Boys Kissing, Kissing, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-28
Updated: 2019-04-28
Packaged: 2020-02-09 06:24:27
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,669
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18632620
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/carissima/pseuds/carissima
Summary: They’ve kissed before. Once, back home when they were on the same team, when Roope had been drafted to some North American team he didn’t know much about, before Miro had been drafted to the same team.





	feels like a long way down

**Author's Note:**

> These two are my new obsession.
> 
> Thank you Bee for the beta!

They’ve kissed before. Once, back home when they were on the same team, when Roope had been drafted to some North American team he didn’t know much about, before Miro had been drafted to the same team.

They kissed just once. Teammates but not especially close, not when Roope was three years older and both of them were just kids. Roope had his boys and Miro had his. They were friends. Just not close ones.

They kissed after a game, Roope forgets which one. It was near the end of their season, an easily won game and a night out to celebrate. Miro didn’t come to many, being so young, but he’d been there and Roope remembers being a little drunk, a lot happy, and even happier when he’d spotted Miro standing there surrounded by their teammates, looking awkward and a little shy.

Roope knows he’s not shy.

“Hey,” Roope remembers saying, sliding his arm over Miro’s shoulders. He’d been much bigger than Miro then, his teammate still waiting to grow those final few inches. “You made it!”

He remembers Miro looking at him in confusion. They hadn’t been close. They had their own friends.

“Yeah,” he’d said in that soft voice he had. Still has.

Roope remembers more drinks. He remembers dragging Miro out to dance, even though the kid had been sober. Roope remembers needing some air, a steady hand on his back as they’d stumbled outside.

They kissed once, outside a club in Helsinki. He’d been leaning against a wall, his white ripped jeans ruined by a few spilled drinks, his hair sweaty and lank from the heat in the club and the energetic dancing.

Miro had a hand on his shoulder, was asking if he was okay or if he wanted some water.

“No,” Roope remembers saying, a little hoarse. “No water.”

Miro had tipped his head up, just a little, perhaps to hear him better over the music.

They’d kissed. Roope remembers making that first move, remembers the hesitant way Miro had kissed him back, like he hadn’t been sure it was allowed. He remembers making a noise in his throat, shifting his hands to get a better grip on Miro’s lean waist. He remembers pulling Miro in, slotting him between his longer legs. He remembers Miro’s lips parting under his, the quick stroke of his tongue into his mouth.

They kissed just that once, when Roope’s hands had slid under Miro’s shirt, when Miro shivered against him, when Roope felt like he’d been bag skated just from one kiss. He remembered Miro’s hands in his hair, not pulling, just still and warm.

He remembers kissing down Miro’s throat, remembers the way Miro had arched up to give him more room, remembers the tell-tale way Miro had shifted and fidgeted against him, hard in his jeans, making tiny, almost indiscernible noises as Roope sucked a small hickey just over his collarbone.

They kissed once, over and over again, until someone had come through the door, startling both of them. Miro had looked panicked, backing away from Roope with wide eyes, his mouth bruised from Roope’s kisses, his skin pink from Roope’s barely-there facial hair.

“Sorry,” Miro said, his voice wrecked. “Sorry.”

Roope remembers watching him leave, his head spinning and with the most painful boner in his ruined jeans.

He remembers thinking that it wouldn’t matter, not really. Not in the long run.

Then Miro got drafted, third overall and Roope was so proud of him.

To Dallas. Where Roope wants to play.

He called to say congratulations. They were still friends, still teammates even if Roope planned to go to Texas for training camp. Even if they had made out, just once, in the cool Helsinki air, and then pretended it had never happened.

It was just that one kiss.

*

Roope’s been in Texas longer, his English is better and he’s still three years older. But Miro’s been with the team all season while he’s bounced up and down, uncertain and waiting for the next move. When he’s with the team, he spends most of his time with Esa and Miro, sometimes Janny.

He’s only kissed Miro that one time, so long ago now.

*

The team celebrates after they beat the Preds 4-2 in the playoffs with a few beers at Klinger’s place. There’s a few beers, a lot of happy faces and a lot of hugs and cheek kisses.

“Come back to mine,” Miro says. It’s not really a question.

Roope doesn’t know if he means right now or later, but he smothers a yawn and nods. Miro starts to say his goodbyes so Roope follows him, all the way back to his apartment.

Miro kisses him, taking Roope by surprise. He’s been up with the Stars for a few months now and it’s the playoffs, he’s not going anywhere unless it’s with the team.

They’re buddies now. Teammates and bros, hanging out together on and off the ice. Miro has an apartment so they spend most of their off-time there, playing video games or watching tv, ordering takeout because neither of them can or will cook. They’ve spent days, weeks, months together, sometimes with Esa or Janny, but mostly just the two of them.

Miro hasn’t kissed him again before tonight though.

Roope kisses him back, of course. They’ve both had a beer but not much more. They won a series but they’ve got another starting in a few days, in another city. His back is against the door, Miro pressing against his front with hot, quick kisses.

Roope remembers how he tastes, remembers how Miro feels against him. He wonders how many boys or girls Miro’s kissed since that night in Helsinki. Wonders if Miro’s thought about this since that night, or whether he’s riding a winning high. Roope isn’t sure he cares about the answer.

Miro’s unbuttoning his shirt, stripping it off Roope’s shoulders and letting it fall to the floor. He pulls back from their kiss, his hands on Roope’s chest, touching him everywhere all at once. Roope thinks his skin might be on fire.

“You too,” he says thickly and yanks Miro’s shirt over his head in one fluid motion. Miro’s still growing into his body, but he’s already bigger than two years ago, already almost the man he’s going to be. Roope leans in and finds the same spot he’d worked over last time, one chilly night back home. He sucks a bigger hickey this time, which is dumb because there’s cameras in their locker room now.

Then Miro moans against him, his fingers biting into Roope’s arms as he pulls him closer, and Roope decides he doesn’t much care. One kiss was enough, but two kisses is an opportunity he’s not passing up. He might not get a third. This one has to count.

When he’s happy with the size of his mark on Miro’s beautifully smooth skin, he lifts his head. Miro’s watching him with dark, quiet eyes, breathing hard and still holding on tight. There’s no one to interrupt them this time. No distractions.

Carefully, slowly, he slides a hand down Miro’s chest, lower until he can palm Miro’s hard dick. He watches as Miro shudders against him, helplessly sinking to the floor to unbutton his jeans. Miro’s hot and heavy in his mouth, already leaking. Roope hasn’t done this in forever. He’s rusty and out of sync, but Miro doesn’t seem to mind, cupping his cheek and staring down at him. Roope makes it as wet and tight as he can and it seems to work because Miro comes in his mouth after just a few minutes.

“Sorry,” Miro murmurs shakily.

Roope shakes his head and gets off his knees. He likes that Miro couldn’t wait, couldn’t hold back. Maybe it’s because he’s a teenager with a warm mouth around his dick but Roope doesn’t care. It was his warm mouth. That’s important, he thinks.

“No,” he murmurs and unzips himself. Miro’s naked in front of him, his own dick spent thanks to Roope’s mouth, and Roope thinks this might be the hardest he’s been in months. Maybe years. “Don’t be sorry.”

“I want to,” Miro whispers and takes Roope’s dick in his hand. Roope’s not sure if he’s done this with another guy before so he guides him, showing Miro exactly how he likes it.

He should have known Miro was a quick learner.

It doesn’t take long before he’s slumped against the wall, his come coating Miro’s hand. Longer than Miro, but not by much, he thinks ruefully. He’s older. He’s meant to have more control.

Then Miro licks his own hand and Roope’s dick twitches helplessly.

Miro looks at him and smiles, a small lift at the corner of his mouth. “Sorry,” he says. “About last time. I didn’t know what I was missing.”

Roope snickers at that, even as his heart rate starts to speed up again. “It’s okay,” he says, even though he thinks now that it probably wasn’t.

“I thought someone would see,” Miro says and shamelessly licks his fingers again. Roope’s dick is definitely trying to get hard again. “I thought you’d be here, in Texas, and I’d be somewhere else. I didn’t think I’d be here too.”

“It’s okay,” he tells Miro again. This time he almost means it.

Miro hauls him up and threads their fingers together. They both stare at their joined hands for a long few moments.

“We should go to bed,” Miro says. He doesn’t sound nervous. He sounds sure, like he’s calling a play on the ice.

They don’t rush, walking together towards Miro’s bedroom. But Miro closes the door firmly behind him and all Roope can think about is pushing him down on the bed and covering him with his body.

So he does.

After all, they’ve only got tonight and then it’s back to playoff hockey. In two weeks, they’ll have another shot at this, whether they win or lose.

He doesn’t want to miss this one.


End file.
